


No Pressure

by Krystalicekitsu



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-22
Updated: 2010-09-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 23:16:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/Krystalicekitsu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was dying and his last thought was- <i>Oh, god. I'll never see Jared aga-</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	No Pressure

**Author's Note:**

> for [](http://peppervl.livejournal.com/profile)[**peppervl**](http://peppervl.livejournal.com/) Because she wrote me 700 words in 20 minutes and I lost the bet. Here you are, dear- A thousand words exactly!

_It was crushing and suffocating. He tried to draw a breath, but the weight on his lungs pressed in and in and i-_

 _He couldn't breathe._

 _Everything in him told him to fight, to struggle, but his limbs wouldn't move under the same weight that crushed his chest, even if they hadn't felt like lead._

 _He was dying._

 _He was dying and his last thought was-_ Oh, god. I'll never see Jared aga-

Jensen wakes with a gasp, shaking and shivering. Trembling really, skin damp with fear and panic. He can still feel the oppressive weight of snow pressing in on him, suffocatingly tight.

"Shh, shh. It was just a dream, Jen. I'm here, shh. You're alright." Large, familiar hands brush over his face, thumbs pressing away tears and Jensen grasps at Jared's wrists, clinging. He needs this, the familiar grip holding him here, anchoring him to _now_.

The damn accident was nearly two years ago and that dream still wakes him sometimes. Wakes him from nights remembering the heavy oppressive feeling of several tons of snow and ice crushing him down. Every single time it's the restrictive feeling of trying to breathe through rapidly thinning air, chilling snow banding around him tighter than steel. The feeling of being trapped and yet wanting- _needing_ \- to move, to go, to get out, to get away. The disturbing feeling of not knowing which way was up just made the whole thing ten times worse.

This time, the trigger had been a bad day with an unfortunate scene.

He should've seen it coming. They'd killed Dean last season, after all, and death usually involves coffins. Small, dark and enclosed space with not enough room to _turn over_ , let alone enough space to keep him from panicking and reliving that damn ski trip.

Jared kisses him softly on each cheek, a light brush to sooth and comfort. Jared had helped him, talked him through the shoot, helped him calm down enough that Dean's panic was shock and confusion rather than phobia. Helped him pull back together after an emotionally wrecked three hours of takes and retakes.

Jensen's so damn lucky to have him.

His breathing evens out further as Jared continues to sooth him, fingers brushing along his cheeks and jaw, smoothing and massaging over rough stubble with feather-light strokes. It placates the rough pounding of his heart and when Jared rolls him gently onto his side and snuggles up behind him, something settles inside his aching chest.

"Shh, I've got you. It's alright. You're safe, Jen, you're with me. You're safe," Jared murmurs reassurances into his skin between brushes of lips.

Jensen nudges him off and back enough to strip off a loose t-shit that's suddenly constricting and Jared doesn't haul him back. Jared knows enough about his fears to wait until he settles back, presses along the lean length behind him before molding them back together.

Jensen reaches back and Jared obligingly slides an arm under his head and wraps another over his waist, palm resting against the strong beat of his heart. Jensen heaves a shaking sigh and calms a little more at the thumb rubbing gently against his chest.

"You okay?" Jared murmurs, lips brushing over his ear before gentle kisses are worked behind his ear and down his neck, soft and leisurely.

Jensen waits, thinks- because if he's not, Jared will be able to tell and he'll worry that Jensen is 'covering it up' and freak. Because he's an awesome boyfriend like that.

When he's sure his heart isn't going to beat out of his chest and the last traces of his need to bolt have slipped back into the recesses of his subconscious, he breathes a shaky, "Yeah."

Jared's thumb is still rubbing reassuring little circles over his sternum and he feels it against his back when Jared relaxes. The line of warm muscles pressed to his own loses a tenseness he wasn't even aware of, and he's suddenly cocooned in a safe, _home_ sort of feeling.

It'd be girly, but that's just the sort of hugs that Jared gives.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he drags Jared closer by his arm.

Jared makes a noncommittal noise, clearly on the edge of sleep again, but pulls himself awake long enough to ask, "You sure?"

"Yeah," he forces a smile into his voice and feels it solidify after a second. God, he's so cute. "Go back to sleep, Jare-bear."

Jared's next noise is decidedly less gracious and far less PG, but he lays a sloppy, tender kiss to Jensen's cheek before drifting off again.

He waits, counting the breaths until Jared is sleep-dead and out to the world before he rolls over.

There's little chance of him getting back to sleep now. Not after a dream like that- no matter _how_ calm his heart rate is. And experience has taught him better than to try.

He glances at the clock. Well, at least he's only three hours sleep deprived. Better than the last time, what with the waking up two hours after he fell asleep, rather than tonight's five. That day was hell.

Shifting gently to his back is something he's gotten pretty adept at doing, and watching his lover sleep is something that soothes him no matter what. Not enough to sleep, but enough to drift contentedly. Enough that he can spend the next while gazing at Jared, rather than thinking about never seeing him again.

He'll work himself into the ground tomorrow. Run and fight and fall through things and exchange witty banter with 'demons' and 'angels' until he can't see straight. Because that's how he deals. Better than beer (and actually _makes_ money as opposed to spending it) for forgetting the things that need forgetting.

Right now, though, he'll run eyes and finger tips gently over the skin and hair of the person who fell asleep in shitty hospital chairs while he recovered, the person who took him home when it was all over and done with.


End file.
